


Leave What's Heavy

by Violetcarson



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Communication, Established Relationship, Foot Massage, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, gratuitous use of hot springs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetcarson/pseuds/Violetcarson
Summary: After the Rostelecom Cup, Yuuri and Victor make their final preparations before the Grand Prix Final. Yuuri tries to struggle through his mounting anxiety on his own, and Victor tries to help with varying degrees of success. They both try to figure out what “together” actually means. Featuring foot massages, somewhat healthy communication, and tragically undefiled hot springs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is incredibly self-indulgent. Massive thanks to my artist Tee. They're absolutely lovely and did some great work. Their tumblr is [victornikiforofu](http://victornikiforofu.tumblr.com). Also thanks to my various friends who let me panic at them about writing, especially [Emma](http://thefutureisyellow.tumblr.com) who is a divine goddess of English and Pep Talks. Also HUGE thanks to the mods for organizing this challenge. This is one of the first things I've had the chance to write in a few years, and I hope you enjoy it. The title is from ["Heavy" by Birdtalker.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdrSSRYgfVk)

  


Victor slips out of his dreams and into wakefulness with an ease that comes from getting up before dawn almost every day of his career. He opens his eyes, blinking lazily. The bedroom is hazy gray outlines in the half light. Through the window a glow is beginning to brighten the horizon, and birds chatter merrily in the trees outside.

Victor rolls over, relishing the sleepy stretch of relaxed muscle, and gropes around the bedside table for his phone with his free arm. He pre-emptively disables the alarm set to go off in just a few minutes and sets the phone aside. Yuuri hates the wailing claxon sound Victor’s phone makes every morning, but he hasn’t had the heart to change the specific noise since the last time Yura tried to prank him by setting his alarm to go off at 3am. The prank had failed of course. Yura wasn’t a particularly accomplished prankster. But he’d tried, and Victor was proud of him.

Mission accomplished, Victor rolls onto his other side, various joints popping as he goes, and posts up on one elbow to regard his bed partner.

Yuuri is curled on his side, face hidden by blankets and Victor’s chest. All that’s visible is his hair, disarrayed into truly spectacular bedhead. Victor pulls down the edge of the comforter, slowly, careful not to disturb Yuuri.

Yuuri groans in his sleep anyway at the change, ever uncooperative, and tucks his face further into the folds of Victor’s soft sleep shirt. Victor’s other hand is clasped loosely between both of his under the covers, Yuuri having claimed it in his sleep like a prize. Yuuri tightens his grip, refusing to let go of either sleep or Victor’s hand. Victor doesn’t mind.

He pushes Yuuri’s bangs back out of his face, ruffling the mess of his hair encouragingly. He trails light fingers back down along Yuuri’s cheekbone, and pauses for a moment on Yuuri’s lips. He traces the edges, first one and then the other. Before he can pull away, Yuuri’s lips purse, pressing a gentle kiss to Victor’s wandering fingertips. Victor grins, and drops his head to rest on the pillow next to Yuuri’s, their faces a breath apart.

“Good morning Yuuri,” he whispers. He pulls his trapped hand free of the bedspread, bringing one of Yuuri’s with it, and lays their intertwined hands between them. He shifts a foot, quests forward under the covers to curl his toes around Yuuri’s ankle. He bumps Makkachin in the process, sprawled across the foot of the bed, and the dog heaves a put-upon sigh and rolls away from them.

Yuuri grumbles in response. His eyes are still closed, and his forehead is creased with a frown. Victor wants to trace the lines, smooth them out with a touch, so he does.

“Are you going to sleep all day?”

Yuuri opens one eye to glare at Victor. “The sun’s not even up yet.”

Victor smiles at him. “True. But we should be.”

Yuuri closes his eye again.

Victor wonders if he should protest, insist that they get out of bed and get ready for the day, but instead he finds himself caught up in the way Yuuri’s bangs just barely obscure his eyes, the brush of messy hair against his cheekbone.

“You’re staring,” Yuuri accuses, eyes still firmly closed.

“Yes,” Victor agrees amicably. “Should I not be staring?”

There’s enough light in the room now that Yuuri’s blush is clearly visible, staining his cheeks a fascinating shade of pink. He lifts his head and scowls at Victor. “You’re ridiculous.”

Victor reaches out, slips a hand around the back of Yuuri’s neck, and pulls him close. “So I’ve been told,” he says, and kisses him.

It’s light but luxurious, just a warm welcome for the morning. Victor savors the simple press of lips, the way Yuuri’s are slightly chapped from sleep. He’s just considering the merits of postponing his plans for them to get out of bed at all when Makkachin realizes they’re awake. Being awake means being available for morning cuddles, so he wriggles his way between them. Yuuri pulls away from Victor with a startled laugh. Makkachin follows him, licks at his chin and whines.

“No Makka, down. Down!” He leans back, trying vainly to escape.

Makkachin takes advantage of the empty space and flops onto his back. He flails his legs, begging to be petted. Victor obliges him. The skin of Makkachin’s belly is warm and papery soft.

“Good morning Makkachin,” he says. He grins at Yuuri. The neckline of Yuuri’s shirt has slid dangerously close to falling off his shoulder, and he’s looking down at Victor’s dog with a soft smile. Victor thinks he’s probably the best thing he’s ever seen. “I guess we’re getting up now.”

~~~

~~~

Victor insists they leave the overhead light off while they get ready, saying that Yuuri looks stunning in the dim light of dawn. Yuuri rolls his eyes at him, which is what Victor really wanted anyway. They pull on some training clothes haphazardly in the semi-darkness, tripping over each other and trying to stifle their laughter, and stumble out of Victor’s bedroom. “Victor, get off of me,” Yuuri laughs as Victor drapes himself over his back. He trips as they enter the kitchen.

“No, this is part of your training, Yuuri. You’re going to work on your balance while supporting added weight. It’ll be very helpful.” Victor tightens his grip.

“Victor seriously, we’re both gonna fall,” Yuuri says, trying and failing to sound stern. “Oh, good morning Mom.”

Hiroko turns away from the counter to greet them, a small paring knife in her hand. “Good morning!” she says brightly in English, and follows it up with a quick question in Japanese. Yuuri nods, and answers her.

Victor tenses during the exchange, wondering if Yuuri will pull away. Only a week ago, before the Rostelecom Cup and before they’d raced to meet each other in the arrivals lobby of that airport, Yuuri would have shied away from any sort of overt physical affection in front of his family. Victor understands, or at least he tries to. Japanese culture is very particular, and restrained, about displays of affection. He knows this, and he’s been getting used to it since moving to Hasetsu. But try as he might to be respectful, some small and fragile part of him still aches whenever Yuuri draws back from his touch.

Yuuri doesn’t pull away. Instead he lays his own hand over the arm Victor has wrapped around his waist, strokes soft fingers against Victor’s wrist. A heady rush of affection surges through him and he feels the sudden dazzling urge to pick Yuuri up and twirl him around the room. He drops a secret kiss to the back of Yuuri’s neck, where Yuuri’s mother can’t see, and hides his smile in Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri chats with his mother as she cooks. Victor lets the sound of Yuuri’s voice wash over him. His Japanese is still elementary at best, so he only catches a few scattered words. But Victor thinks he’d be perfectly content to just stand in the kitchen all day with Yuuri in his arms and admire the way his voice curls around his native tongue.

He has to let go when they sit down to eat, so he makes do by sitting as close to Yuuri as possible without actively crawling into his lap. He considers it briefly as an option, but decides not to push his luck too much. Maybe for lunch.

“So what’s our plan for today?” Yuuri asks, cracking an egg over his bowl of rice. Steam curls off it in spirals.

“I thought we’d focus on drilling the choreography for your free program for part of the morning, especially the second half.” Victor pokes through a small bowl of fruit with interest, picking out a piece of what he thinks might be a plum. “Then perhaps we can do some more work with your jumps. If you still want to incorporate the quad flip, our primary goal should be improving your consistency over the next few days.”

Yuuri is quiet for a beat too long, staring down into his bowl while he pokes at the egg with his hashi. He shakes himself, looking up to meet Victor’s eyes. “Okay. That sounds good.” A note of tension lingers in his voice.

Hiroko returns before Victor can speak, and places a bowl of miso in front of each of them. She asks Yuuri something Victor doesn’t catch, but he understands Yuuri’s reply. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” His shoulders hunch in, a defensive posture Victor is too familiar with.

He shifts just far enough that his leg is no longer pressed flush against Victor’s and picks up the bowl of soup.

“Yuuri? You do still want to use the quad flip, right?” Victor asks, striving to keep his tone casual and like he doesn’t feel as if a bucket of ice water was just dumped over his head.

Yuuri nods at him, and flashes a quick, tight grin. “Of course. Just thinking.”

Victor wants to press, but he reins himself back. If he pushes, Yuuri will shut down. He hates the way that Yuuri sometimes caves into himself, hates seeing Yuuri, who should always be the most vibrant personality in the room, make himself small.

Yuuri finishes his breakfast quickly, and goes back to his own room to grab his skate bag and everything else he needs for the day. Victor watches the back of Yuuri’s tracksuit disappear down the hallway, stares after him until the rest of his food goes cold. Then he takes Makkachin outside the inn for a walk.

When he gets back inside, he returns to his room alone. The space feels much emptier without Yuuri in it.

His own skate bag is already sitting on his bed, neatly packed, with a full water bottle strapped to the side.

Yuuri is waiting for him by the front door of the inn. He’s leaning against a wall, frowning hard at a vase on display on the front desk. His eyes snap up when Victor approaches him.

“Thank you, Yuuri. Have I told you recently how thoughtful and wonderful you are?” Victor asks, hefting his bag onto his shoulders. He flips his bangs out of his eyes and gifts Yuuri with his most winning smile.

Yuuri scoffs at him, but he’s blushing again. “You’ve mentioned it.” He opens the door. “Come on, we need to get moving.”

He strides off down the path without waiting, but pauses under the arch for Victor to catch up.

He reaches out, and Victor’s heart leaps for a moment. But Yuuri doesn’t try to hold his hand. Instead his fingers wrap themselves up in the fabric of Victor’s coat sleeve, and Yuuri steps in close to Victor’s side as they begin the trek to Ice Castle. He doesn’t let go once.

~~~

The sound of Yuuri’s skates slicing through the ice in smooth strokes echoes in the open air of Ice Castle. He glides around the far corner of the rink, the lines of his body held in tense preparation. He glances over his shoulder at Victor.

Victor nods, tries to look encouraging. “Again Yuuri, focus on your entry,” he calls from his place at center ice.

Yuuri slides smoothly into forward crossovers, picking up speed for the jumping pass. He takes his time setting up for the jump, just as Victor has been reminding him all morning. His form looks solid, and Victor thinks for a moment that this try might be it, his first clean execution. But then Yuuri slides through the 3-turn, and Victor’s breath catches. They’ve been on the ice for hours, and Victor has already lost count of how many times Yuuri has attempted the flip today. When Yuuri comes out of the turn, his edge is shallow, and his skating leg quivers with visible exhaustion. He toes in for the take-off, and his toe pick is a breath too far to the side. He rockets up into the jump, barely makes three and a half rotations. He arcs back to the ice for the landing and Victor sees the angle, knows it’s going to go wrong before it happens. Yuuri touches down. His leg immediately folds under his weight. He crashes into the ice with an audible thud, and Victor can hear his pained gasp from across the rink.

“Yuuri!” Victor is moving before he makes a conscious decision, hands reaching out vainly to help despite the wide space between them, grasping at empty air.

But Yuuri is already pushing himself shakily to his feet. By the time Victor reaches him he’s bent double, hands on his knees and panting.

“Yuuri, are you hurt?” Victor asks. His hands clutch at Yuuri’s shoulders. He wishes, a stray frantic thought, that he wasn’t wearing gloves so he could feel the reassuring heat of Yuuri’s skin through the damp fabric of his training shirt.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri pants. His eyes are closed, face stretched in a pained grimace.

Victor finds that his hands won’t stop running his hands over Yuuri’s shoulders and sides, desperate to locate any injuries. “Maybe we should stop for today,” he says, and he can hear the strain in his own voice.

Yuuri shakes his head. He straightens up, the movement slow and careful. He winces. “No, I’m fine. We can keep going.”

Victor frowns at him, ducks down to catch his eye. “Yuuri, that was a hard fall. I need to make sure you’re not hurt, at the very least.” He slides an arm around Yuuri’s waist, tries to take some of his weight. Yuuri shakes him off.

“Victor, seriously, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” he says, sliding back, away from Victor. Victor feels every inch of space between them like a mile.

Victor shakes his head, trying to focus on the immediate problem. “We’re not going to keep skating until I check you over. Come on, off the ice.”

Yuuri is reluctant, but goes, movements slow and careful. Victor follows.

Yuuri is still shaky when he reaches the edge of the rink. He grabs his guards off the boards, but he fumbles one. It clatters to the ice. Victor picks it up, hands it back without comment. Yuuri mumbles a quiet “thank you,” and steps through the gate.

He pulls on the guards with stiff, mechanical motions, and moves off without waiting for Victor to put on his own guards. He sinks heavily onto the nearest bench. Victor hurries to follow him.

He kneels before Yuuri, and gently picks up one of Yuuri’s feet. He rests it carefully in his lap. He squeezes Yuuri’s muscles rhythmically, moving slowly up his calf. “Tender?”

Yuuri shakes his head, eyes fixed on Victor’s hands.

“How about your ankle? Maybe you should take off your skates.”

Yuuri shakes his head again. His voice is small, quiet. “I’m okay, Victor. Just a couple bruises. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Victor’s heart drops like a stone. “Yuuri,” he starts, “Of course I need to worry about you.” His fingers tighten without his permission on Yuuri’s calf. “I’m your coach, it’s my responsibility to worry about you.”

Yuuri looks away. He bites his lip before answering. “Okay, yes Coach Victor. Whatever you say.”

Victor wants to say more, wants to tell Yuuri that he can’t not worry about him, not anymore, not after Yuuri has insinuated himself into every empty space in Victor’s life. He wants to grab Yuuri’s chin, turn his face so he can see the warm brown of Yuuri’s eyes. He wants to pull Yuuri against his chest, hold him close until Victor will never have to see that lost expression on his face ever again.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, voice still unbearably timid. “What could I have improved that time? Please tell me where I went wrong?”

Victor swallows back the flood of reassurance and answers the question.

~~~

They don’t try the flip again, and the practice ends soon after. Yuuri is quiet. He unties his skates with slow, deliberate movements. Victor sits next to him on the bench. He traces his fingertips against the rough wood of the bench, feeling the places where it’s been worn smooth by countless patrons.

He knows he’s staring at Yuuri across the foot of space between them. Yuuri doesn’t seem to notice. He stows the hard guard away in his bag, and thoroughly wipes the blades down with a soft cloth. His hands are shaking. They keep moving, running back and forth along the metal, long after the skates are dry.

Eventually he drags himself out of his own head enough to pull the soakers on, an electric blue pair that were a gift from Yuuko, and stow his skates in his bag.

Yuuri stands up, eyes on his tennis shoes. Victor follows suit, reaches out to clasp a loose hand around Yuuri’s elbow. He tugs gently, and Yuuri finally looks up to meet his eyes.

“You’re doing so well,” Victor says, bringing his other hand up to cup Yuuri’s cheek. “You’ve come so far, I know your success rate with the flip will improve.”

“I know,” Yuuri says, barely more than a whisper. His eyes slide closed. He turns his face into the caress, presses quick lips to Victor’s palm. Then he moves away, turning to pick up his backpack. “I think I’m going to go ahead and head to Minako’s. I’ll see you at home.” He gives Victor a brittle smile.

“Okay. Tell Minako I said ‘hi,’” Victor says, forcing himself to sound cheerful. He thinks he almost succeeds.

Yuuri nods at him, pulls on his backpack, and leaves.

Victor sits back down on the bench. One of the lockers opposite him has a small dent. Victor stares at it, gaze fixed, waiting for Yuuri to get far enough away that he won’t feel crowded when Victor follows him out the door. Then he slides the strap of his own bag over his shoulder, and leaves Ice Castle, starting the walk back to Yutopia alone under the afternoon sun.

~~~

Yuuri doesn’t make it back in time for dinner. Victor spends the meal pushing food around on his plate and half listening to Toshiya and Hiroko’s quiet conversation. They speak too quickly for him to catch more than a handful of words.

After the meal, Victor continues to sit at the empty table. He isn’t sure what else to do. He’d texted Yuuri earlier, a quick ‘are you coming home soon?’

Yuuri had responded: ‘eating with Minako. back soon.’ Victor’s phone hadn’t buzzed since.

Hiroko comes to the table, sets down a cup of tea in front of Victor without asking. The warmth of her smile washes over him, and he can’t help but smile in return.

“He’ll be okay,” she says in English. “You always take very good care of him.”

Victor musters up a wink for her. It almost feels genuine. “Well, I try.”

~~~

The inn is quiet, the few guests lingering in the off season all vanished into their rooms, by the time Yuuri wearily slides open the front door. “ _Tadaima_.”

Victor is leaning against a wall across from the foyer. Makkachin sprawls across his legs. He doesn’t quite know how long he’s been sitting there, aimlessly scrolling through Instagram and Twitter.

Makkachin jumps up at the sound of the door and Yuuri’s quiet voice. The dog bounds across the room and slams himself against Yuuri’s legs to demand attention. Victor stands, following his dog at a more sedate pace.

Yuuri huffs out a laugh and buries both his hands in the fur around Makkachin’s neck. He jumps when Victor speaks, not expecting a response.

“ _Okaeri nasai_ ,” Victor says. He thinks his pronunciation was close. It’s close enough that Yuuri smiles at him, surprised and pleased. Victor is so relieved at the sight of Yuuri’s tired smile he almost feels faint.

Victor nudges Makkachin out of the way so he can pull Yuuri into his arms. Yuuri sags immediately, lets Victor support his weight. He tucks his face into Victor’s neck and sighs. The warm breath gusts against Victor’s skin. He shivers.

Victor turns his face into Yuuri’s hair. He smells like the cheap shampoo he keeps in his skate bag. Victor closes his eyes, says, “I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in Yuuri’s voice. “I was with you most of the day.”

Victor tightens his grip, running one hand up to disappear into Yuuri’s hair. “Doesn’t matter. I still missed you. I miss you every moment you’re not with me.”

Yuuri hums in response.

They sway together in the entryway for long minutes. Victor’s hand cards gently through Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri yawns. “Mmm, if you keep doing that, I might just expect a scalp massage every time I come home.”

Victor’s hand tightens in Yuuri’s hair. He ignores the delightfully breathy sound Yuuri makes in response and pulls back just enough to meet Yuuri’s eyes. He needs Yuuri to know, to understand.

“If you wanted me to, I would. All you’d have to do is say the word.” He trails a hand down Yuuri’s arm to clasp his hand and raises it to his lips. “I’ve been told I give excellent massages, you should take advantage of me.”

Yuuri laughs and leans back. “I’m sure,” he says. “It’s been a long day, we should get some sleep. Gotta be ready for practice early tomorrow.” He starts to turn away, tugging gently on Victor’s hand to lead him down the hallway.

Victor stands firm. He tightens his grip.

Yuuri turns back to him, brow furrowed. “Victor?”

Victor intertwines their fingers. “Yuuri,” he says, and stops for a moment, considering his phrasing. “I want to do something. For you.”

The confused frown is back. “What do you mean?”

Victor squeezes Yuuri’s hand tighter and chooses his words carefully. “Let me take care of you Yuuri. Please?”

A blush spreads like wildfire over Yuuri’s face. Victor presses his advantage and steps in. “Will you let me, Yuuri? Let me make you feel good?” His voice dips low and the blush spreads further. Months ago, before they started to learn each other, Yuuri would have panicked and disappeared at the slightest hint of intimacy. But this is now.

He hesitates for a breath, but meets Victor’s eyes. “Yes. Of course.”

Victor smiles. “Good,” he says gently, and presses a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

Yuuri follows Victor down the winding hallway to his room. The inn is silent around them. Makkachin pads at their sides. At the end of the hallway, Victor bypasses his own room and leads them into Yuuri’s.

Makkachin darts past them as soon as the door is open. He leaps onto Yuuri’s bed, immediately curling up and sighing. Victor closes the door behind them. He turns to Yuuri and begins unzipping his jacket with careful fingers. The faint blush is back, seemingly ever present on Yuuri’s cheeks, but he obligingly shrugs the jacket off his shoulders as soon as the zipper is down. Victor starts in on his shirt as well, lifting up the hem. He pauses for a moment to splay his fingers around the newly exposed skin of Yuuri’s waist, thumbs just barely caressing the lines of his abdominal muscles.

Yuuri reaches out to Victor as well, pulling at the knot of his yukata. Victor gently pushes his hand away, and returns to sliding Yuuri’s t-shirt off over his head. “Victor? What are you—?” Yuuri begins, but Victor interrupts him.

“We’ll worry about that later Yuuri. Right now, I have a plan.” He winks.

Yuuri raises his eyebrows skeptically, but he lets Victor finish undressing him without complaint.

The blush has spread farther by the time Yuuri is standing naked in front of him. He shifts slightly on his feet, still awkward even now. Victor wastes no time admiring him, and turns away to riffle through a stack of clothing. He pulls out another Yukata, blue this time instead of the green guest robe Victor is still wearing months after moving in, and drapes it around Yuuri, tying it loosely.

“Alright. Let’s go to the onsen.” He slides his fingers down Yuuri’s arm to reclaim his hand.

“The onsen?” Yuuri asks. “At this time of night?”

Victor caresses the back of Yuuri’s hand. “Now is the perfect time, _Solnyshko_. Everyone is asleep, so we’ll have it all to ourselves. Stay, Makka,” he adds as he pulls Yuuri back out into the hallway. Makkachin’s tail thumps against the bed as he slides the door shut.

“Victor!” Yuuri whispers harshly as he’s led back down the hallway. “We can’t—you know. Not in the onsen!”

“Yuuri!” Victor whispers back in faux outrage. “I would never dream of it!” He pauses thoughtfully. “Actually I have dreamed of it, frequently, but I respect your parents far too much to defile their livelihood in such a way.” He pulls open the door to the changing room and ushers Yuuri inside. “Also I want them to keep feeding me.”

Yuuri’s laugh is quiet, mindful of the time of night, but Victor feels his heart swell. He loves hearing Yuuri laugh. He loves making Yuuri laugh.

After bundling both of their yukata into a handily placed basket, he leads Yuuri through to the tiled bathing room. The small cubicles of the washing stations are a bit of a tight squeeze for two adult men, but Victor is determined to make it work.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the short stool. Once Yuuri’s sitting, Victor begins his task, standing at his side.

He takes up the small showerhead, running a gentle stream of water over Yuuri’s head, one hand cupped over his forehead to shield his eyes. Yuuri laughs again, shaking his head and flinging water everywhere. Victor tsks at him. “Hold still.” He gathers some shampoo from the large bottle in front of them and massages it into Yuuri’s scalp. Yuuri hums, his eyes sliding closed. He relaxes visibly, leaning against Victor. His cheek rests just above Victor’s hipbone. Victor finds the proximity particularly intriguing, but he forces himself to ignore it. _Now is not the time_ , he tells himself sternly. Instead he rinses Yuuri’s hair, sending a trail of bubbles and water cascading down over his shoulders.

Satisfied, Victor decides to move on. For the second time that day, he kneels in front of Yuuri and pulls one of his feet into his lap. The soles of Yuuri’s feet are thick with callous, a testament to his lifetime as a dancer and skater. But his feet are in a sorry state. As usual, he’s pushed himself farther than his body can handle. His skin is an angry red where it’s been rubbed raw by his skates and ballet flats, and a line of blisters is forming across the ball of his foot. Victor uses a soapy cloth to gently clean the skin of both feet, careful not to put too much pressure on the spots that seem particularly sore.

He looks up at Yuuri’s face. Yuuri is watching him through lidded eyes, and he smiles softly when Victor meets his eyes. His eyes close and he groans when Victor digs his thumbs into the muscle along his arch, massaging gently. He keeps his gaze fixed on Yuuri’s face as he works his way around Yuuri’s entire foot and ankle. Yuuri’s eyes don’t open, too relaxed to move, even when Victor continues his massage with the other foot.

Eventually he stands up, pulling Yuuri back to his feet along with him. Yuuri immediately leans into him, mouth seeking his, but he chuckles and moves away to face Yuuri’s back. “Let me finish this,” he says, and Yuuri grumbles at him.

He takes up a washcloth and starts on Yuuri’s back, running the washcloth down the line of his spine. The room is quiet as Victor works his way across Yuuri’s body. Yuuri hisses out a small pained breath when Victor reaches a large bruise on his hip, likely from one of the many falls at today’s practice, and Victor presses a light kiss to Yuuri’s shoulder in mute apology.

He takes up the shower head again and faces Yuuri to trail the stream of water over him. Yuuri’s eyes lock with his as Victor rinses off the lingering suds covering his body. Victor feels caught in his gaze. He doesn’t look away.

After spending as much time as he can possibly justify rinsing Yuuri off, Victor says, “Alright. Now it’s time for the spring. Go outside, I’ll be there in just a moment.”

Yuuri cocks his head to the side, eyes dark. Victor is momentarily distracted by a single droplet of water that runs from his cheek down his neck, disappearing over his shoulder. “Are you sure? You don’t want me to, you know, return the favor?”

Victor sighs in mock exasperation, belying the way his own face and neck are warming under the intensity of Yuuri’s expression. “Yuuri, how many times do I need to say it? This is about you right now.”

Yuuri laughs softly, seeming more relaxed than he had all day. “Okay, fine.” He turns around, heading for the sliding door that leads out to the spring. Victor watches him walk away. The shift of muscle as Yuuri moves, for once entirely comfortable in his nudity, is captivating. Yuuri looks back at him with the door halfway open, grins when he catches Victor staring.

He winks and steps through.

Victor’s pulse races.

He rushes through his own routine, washing himself as quickly as possible. He might still have some traces of shampoo in his hair when he finishes rinsing off, but he’s got more important things to worry about.

Yuuri is in the spring when he walks out. He’s barely visible in the near darkness, leaning back against the edge of the pool, eyes closed. He doesn’t stir when Victor enters the water.

Victor wades over to him and pauses for a moment, admiring the way the heat has brought out more of a flush on Yuuri’s chest

“Yes?” Yuuri asks without opening his eyes.

Victor reaches out, smoothes damp hair back away from Yuuri’s forehead. “Just taking in the view.”

Yuuri opens his eyes, looking up at Victor. His eyes shine in the near darkness, pupils blown wide.

“Come here,” he says, and Victor goes.

The carved stone ledge Yuuri is sitting on isn’t strictly wide enough for both of them, so Victor insinuates himself into Yuuri’s space, pressing himself along his side as closely as possible. He places one hand against the stone next to Yuuri, and with the other gently tilts Yuuri’s face up to meet his. The kiss is soft, unhurried, a gentle press of lips.

Yuuri, on the other hand, is impatient, and deepens the kiss immediately. His arms snake around Victor’s back, palms pressed against Victor’s shoulders and pulling him even closer.

Victor pulls back, breathing into the space between them. Yuuri’s lips chase vainly after his, but Victor presses a kiss instead to the corner of his lips, then his cheek, moving his way to Yuuri’s ear.

“Turn around,” Victor whispers.

Yuuri opens his eyes, scowls in frustration at this latest interruption. “I thought you said you were taking care of me?”

Victor smiles. “I am. Turn around.”

Yuuri huffs in exasperation but complies. “Fine.”

He drops the annoyance the moment Victor’s fingers dig into the muscles of his shoulders. He groans loudly, pressing back into Victor’s hands.

Victor leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of Yuuri’s ear. “I told you I was good at massages,” he purrs, nipping gently at Yuuri’s ear before pulling away to focus on the collection of knots he’s discovered in Yuuri’s upper back.

Yuuri hums in wordless agreement, head rolling forward, loose on his neck.

Victor works his way down Yuuri’s back, alternating between long broad strokes and gentle circular pressure with his fingers whenever he finds a particularly stubborn knot.

Yuuri grows more relaxed as Victor continues his work. He sways gently towards Victor with every movement. When Victor reaches the base of Yuuri’s spine, he slides closer, guiding Yuuri to lean back against him. Victor slides his arms around their bodies, grabbing one of Yuuri’s hands in both of his and beginning to massage his palm. Yuuri drops his head back against Victor’s shoulder, eyes closed.

Victor switches to massaging Yuuri’s other hand, and decides to break the silence. “You’ve improved so much already, Yuuri. I know you’ll do well in the final.”

To Victor’s surprise, Yuuri immediately tenses in his embrace. He lifts his head from Victor’s shoulder, leaning forward to pull away, and Victor’s hands instinctively wrap around his waist, holding him back. “Yuuri? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just a little overheated I think. Please let me go, Victor.”

Victor reluctantly does, and Yuuri moves away. He stands to wade across the hot spring, but Victor grabs his hand before he can slip away entirely. Yuuri turns to face him, expression closed off. Victor swallows.

“Yuuri,” he repeats. “What’s wrong?”

Yuuri smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing. Just tired and warm. We should probably get to bed soon anyway.”

Victor doesn’t let go of his hand. “Yuuri, why does this keep happening?”

Yuuri drops the smile, looking wary. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you keep shutting me out like this? You keep trying to act like nothing’s bothering you, when something obviously is. When I try to reassure you, you change the subject.”

Yuuri drops his gaze and doesn’t answer.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “Please talk to me?”

Yuuri swallows audibly. “Victor,” he says, and stops.

Victor waits.

“Victor,” Yuuri begins again. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

Yuuri clenches his eyes shut. “This. You don’t have to do all these things, and try to motivate me, by…being close to me.”

Victor feels like he’s falling, like he’s being slammed into cold hard ice. “What do you mean? Yuuri, I’m not––not trying to _motivate_ you right now. I’m trying to...” he trails off, grasping desperately for words that won’t come. “Why would you think that?” Yuuri’s fingers slip away from his own and he barely notices.

Yuuri looks very small. He tucks his arms around himself. “You’ve done it before.”

I don’t—” Victor clears his throat. “I don’t understand.”

“At the Cup of China, when I was crying. You offered to kiss me. So I’d be able to calm down and perform well.”

Victor finds that he can’t speak, can’t say anything at all. Yuuri hurries on. “And from the beginning, since you started coaching me, whenever I’ve felt anxious or nervous or overwhelmed, you’ve always tried to do something—something romantic.”

Victor looks down at the murky water, frantic thoughts tumbling over each other. “Yuuri, do you think I’m only with you as some sort of motivational tactic?”

Yuuri stands alone in the middle of the spring, water dripping off him, stiff, uncomfortable tension in every line of his body. He rests a hand against the fountain statue, presses hard against it like it’s the only thing holding him up. “No,” he says, voice halting. “Not any more. I did at first, somewhat. I didn’t think you were serious about me. About us.”

Victor feels lost, set adrift. “Yuuri, I don’t know what I did to give you that impression, but I would never—”

“I know,” Yuuri interrupts him, like he’s choking on the words. “Victor I know. I don’t think that any more. Most of the time. But sometimes, I can’t help--” One hand comes up to cover his face, shielding his eyes. “It just doesn’t make sense for you to want to be with me. I’ve admired you forever, it feels like my whole life.” He laughs, like he’s trying to play it all off as a joke, but Victor can hear the tears in his voice. “Of course this, us, would mean more to me than it does to you.”

The words don’t make sense at first. Victor doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend how Yuuri still doesn’t know. But he forces himself to stop, to consider. He’s never been good at understanding other people’s perspectives, he always seems to get caught up in the driving chaos of his own thoughts and never remembers to check that other people are on the same page. He thinks back, surely somewhere he’s told Yuuri, surely they’ve talked about this.

But no, they hadn’t. They’d slipped into this relationship so easily, between one moment and the next, building from that first whirlwind of an evening in Sochi. To Victor, it’d felt like the easiest thing in the world. It’d felt like coming home. Why would they have needed to talk about it, when it was so obvious how good they were together?

But apparently that wasn’t the case. While Victor had been reveling, joyously overwhelmed by feeling something real for what seemed like the first time in years, Yuuri hadn’t known, hadn’t understood the way he was filling up every dark empty corner of Victor’s life.

He thought it meant more to him than to Victor? Impossible.

Victor stands up. Yuuri looks at him, hand still pressed to his face, an uncertain question in his eyes. Victor wades toward him, facing him squarely. He takes both of Yuuri’s hands in his own, pulling him out of his defensive posture.

“Yuuri, I am your coach,” he begins, speaking slowly, and Yuuri flinches involuntarily. Victor tightens his grip on Yuuri’s hands before he can pull away. “No Yuuri, please listen. I am your coach,” he says again. “But that is the smallest piece of my relationship with you.” His own voice catches in his throat. “And of course I want you to succeed in your career. But that’s because I know how much you love skating, and how determined and skilled you are, and how much you want to succeed for yourself.” He lifts one of his Yuuri’s hands, presses his lips to Yuuri’s knuckles. “I love you.” He pauses, ducks his head down to catch Yuuri’s eyes. “I love you Yuuri, so much, and that’s why I want to help you be everything I know you can.”

Victor tugs gently on Yuuri’s hands, guiding him closer to Victor again. “Before we met, before I came into your life, you said you felt like you were fighting alone, right?”

He waits for Yuuri to nod, and continues. “I don’t think you understand just how alone I was too, before I met you. Yuuri,” he says, voice gaining strength. “I’ve never been…good at making friends. I’ve always had so many people supporting my success as a skater, but very few who were interested in supporting me as a person. Even for the few that came close, Yakov, Chris sometimes, too much of their idea of me was tied up in my career. If I let myself lean on them, I’d be letting them down. It was easier to just bury myself in the skating.”

Yuuri is trembling. Victor lets go of his hands to gently frame his face. “You make me want to feel something again, something real. You make me want to be something more than just my career.”

“You are,” Yuuri says, voice thick.

“I am what?” Victor asks.

“You are more than just your career.”

Victor closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Yuuri’s. “I know Yuuri. Thank you. So are you.”

~~~

They make it out of the spring eventually. They’re both shaky, overwhelmed, and seemingly unable to let go of each other. They stumble through the silent hallways, barely staying on their feet and constantly trying to pull each other closer. They slide the door open to Yuuri’s room, and collapse together on the bed in a tangle of limbs, lips immediately reconnecting. Their frantic kissing slows to a halt though, when Yuuri can’t seem to stop yawning. Victor laughs into his throat, and sucks a parting bruise there, taking vicious pleasure in the way he can both hear and feel the vibrations of the sound Yuuri makes low in his throat. Then he tucks Yuuri against him, wraps him up as tightly as he can, and listens to the perfect sound of Yuuri’s heart pounding.

Victor feels warm and happy and properly relaxed for the first time since waking up that morning, and starts to doze off quickly, his face pressed against Yuuri’s neck. He can feel Yuuri’s arm shifting back and forth, idly petting Makkachin.

Before Victor can fall asleep entirely, Yuuri speaks up. His voice is wonderfully soft and fond. “Makkachin’s getting pretty shaggy. Maybe we should take him in for a trim soon?”

Victor realizes in that moment that ‘we’ is one of the most beautiful words he’s ever heard in any language, and he’d like to hear Yuuri say it as often as possible.

The thought occurs to him then. Maybe, after Barcelona and the stress of the Final, sometime while Yuuri is at Minako’s, Victor will explore Hasetsu. Maybe he’ll find a jewelry shop, and pick out a ring. Just in case Yuuri still doesn’t understand how committed he is, he can find a way to really get the point across.

“Yes,” he answers. “I think we should.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by! Feedback is always appreciated. My tumblr is [clearancecreedatersurvival](http://clearancecreedwatersurvival.tumblr.com).


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